Chapter 29:

  "The Mirror"

  Arc 3: Chapter 8

  POV: "???"

  The Great Hall of the Tower of Light seemed smaller under the weight of voices crashing against marble and crystal walls. The magical light descending from the tall stained-glass windows trembled slightly, as if the air itself was too tense to hold it.

  “This needs to be stopped right now!” Aldert Fingard slammed his clenched fist on the ebony table, making the crystal water glasses ring. His face was red with contained fury. “One year! A whole year gone, and now he comes back as if nothing happened? This is an affront to the very logic of the world!”

  Ver?nica, seated with the impeccable posture of someone who had seen equations more complicated than life, raised a pale, serene hand. Her almost luminescent purple eyes scanned the table with clinical calm.

  “Unprecedented, yes. But not impossible.” Her voice was low, almost didactic. “A year somewhere we don’t know. Or sometimes we don’t know. The Time Stones don’t follow the same rules as the others. They don’t destroy; they rearrange. And rearranging someone who already died… that’s new. Very new.”

  Luka Graymon, who had been observing in silence until then, leaned slightly forward. His brown eyes met Luna’s with an intensity that was not merely professional.

  “Luna…” He spoke low but firm. “What exactly did he say in the cell? Word for word. ‘Cowardice’ is too vague a term for someone who went through what he went through.”

  Luna felt her stomach contract. She took a deep breath, forcing the words out without trembling.

  “He said he came back… to save us. From his own cowardice.”

  A brief, almost painful silence fell over the table.

  Aldert let out a dry, incredulous laugh.

  “That makes no sense at all! Cowardice? He’s mocking us!”

  Voices began to overlap: Aldert shouting about treason, Ver?nica murmuring hypotheses about temporal paradoxes, Luka trying to impose order with precise questions. The noise grew like a forming storm.

  Then Bruce Darking, who until that moment had remained motionless as an obsidian statue, raised a single hand.

  The silence fell like a blade.

  All eyes turned to him. The Strongest Man in the World didn’t need to shout to be heard; merely existing sufficed.

  “There is something wrong with all of this,” he said, voice grave and slow, each syllable laden with absolute certainty. “Something that doesn’t fit into any category we know.”

  He paused, letting the weight of those words settle.

  “We must kill him. Now. No more delays.”

  Aldert nodded vigorously.

  “Finally, someone speaks clearly. Even you, Luna, must see it now. The previous vote was a mistake driven by grief. The danger is alive, breathing, and inside the walls.”

  Luna felt the floor sway beneath her feet. She looked at her own hands on the table, imagining them raised to vote for death… again. The memory of the continuous beep in the white room returned like a punch to the chest.

  “I…” Her voice came out weak at first, then gained strength. “I recognize the threat. But ‘cowardice’… was not a term he used lightly. It was an admission. Something intimate. Something he carried even before… before.”

  Bruce did not seem surprised. His emerald eyes studied her for a second too long.

  “Feelings are luxuries existential threats do not allow.” He leaned slightly forward. “But you’re right about one thing. We’ve never seen anyone fully control a Stone. There are no records. In fact, it’s considered impossible. Killing him now would be burning the only manual we have on what he carries. The knowledge we can extract… is strategic. We must study him. Exhaustively.”

  The word “study” hung in the air like poisonous smoke. Everyone understood what it meant: not academic research. It was controlled, progressive, scientific dissection.

  Luna felt a chill climb her spine.

  Bruce continued, imperturbable.

  “Let us vote. For permanent containment and intensive study.”

  The vote was quick and silent.

  Ver?nica raised her hand first, driven by the insatiable thirst for forbidden knowledge.

  Aldert followed, reluctant but convinced by the strategic argument.

  Luka hesitated visibly, his Adam’s apple rising and falling. Finally, he raised his hand—duty over heart.

  Bruce, obviously, voted in favor.

  Four to one.

  Luna kept her hand on the polished wood. She did not raise it. She did not need to. Her silence was the loudest vote of all.

  Later that night, in Luna’s private chamber, the air was heavy with a different desolation.

  Raphadun paced back and forth like a caged animal, fists clenched.

  “This is… torture with a pretty name!” He stopped abruptly, looking at Luna. “And we agreed? We let this happen?”

  Flávio sat on the floor, back against the bed, knees drawn to his chest. His face, once always lit by an easy smile, was now a mask of defeated confusion.

  “We buried him, Rapha. I saw the coffin go down. I saw the earth cover it. Now this comes back… with new flesh and ghost words? It’s not him. It’s the Stone. Using his face.”

  Fencer stood near the window, watching the city below. His fingers drummed rhythmically on the sill—a tic betraying the speed of his thoughts.

  “I cannot categorically assure,” he said without turning.

  All eyes turned to him.

  “The reports on the Stones are unanimous: no one can become ‘another person’ using them. They amplify, distort and consume. But the Time Stones…” He paused, as if weighing each word. “They are the hardest to understand. No one has ever used them in a controlled way. There has never been a registered user who didn’t dissolve into paradox or madness.”

  Luna raised her eyes, voice low.

  “And if he is the exception? If he really crossed? The body was buried, yes. But what if the Stone didn’t remake the flesh… but reclaimed the consciousness that was dispersed? What do you see in the void for a year, Fencer?”

  Fencer remained silent for a long moment.

  “I was ordered by Ver?nica, after the vote, to collect samples. I’ll try to talk to him.” He turned toward the door. “Perhaps science will say what emotions cannot.”

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  And he left, leaving the others immersed in their own thoughts.

  In the underground cell, the air was damp and metallic. Alfredo Lighting stood guard outside, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the reinforced door.

  Fencer arrived with light, almost silent steps. He showed the paper with the Council seal.

  “I came to collect samples.”

  Alfredo observed him for a second too long, then nodded.

  “Enter.”

  Fencer passed him. Alfredo, without turning, murmured:

  “You… live well?”

  Fencer stopped in the dark corridor.

  “You never asked years ago. Why now?” He gave a humorless half-smile. “But yes. I live.”

  “Good. Good luck in there.”

  Fencer entered the cell.

  Empty was bound to the metal chair, thick straps wrapping torso, arms, and legs. He did not move when Fencer approached. He merely watched—or at least the mask watched.

  Fencer took his arm with clinical care. Said nothing. Drew dark, thick blood with a syringe, scraped desiccated skin fragments with a sterilized blade, and stored everything in sealed vials. Absolute silence.

  When he finished and turned to leave, the hoarse, broken voice echoed for the first time.

  “Fencer…”

  Fencer froze. Turned slowly. His face showed no fright or surprise—only cold, meticulous analysis.

  “I always wanted to ask you…” Empty continued.

  “I… don’t know if it’s really you in there. Better not to talk.”

  Fencer turned his back.

  “That day, at the party. You spoke about weakness. About its inevitability…”

  Fencer stopped. Looked over his shoulder.

  “Yes. But I was drunk.”

  A low sound came from the mask—a hoarse, dry, almost mechanical laugh. Enough to make Fencer turn completely.

  “You say things someone who just returned wouldn’t say…” Fencer said, voice low and sharp. “Laugh at something someone who just came back to life wouldn’t laugh at. Tell me, why should I trust it’s really you?”

  Silence.

  Alfredo, noticing the delay, went to the monitoring room. The soldiers watching the cameras were laughing and playing cards. Alfredo’s entrance startled them.

  “Sir!” The soldiers said, standing and saluting.

  “What are you doing?” Alfredo said, angry. He looked and saw Fencer standing near the door and Empty in the same place.

  “Where is the sound?” He questioned.

  “There isn’t any; it seems to have been cut.”

  Alfredo left the room quickly.

  Back in the dark and empty cell, Empty finally broke the silence after Fencer’s question.

  Then Empty spoke, slowly, as if choosing each word carefully.

  “Your speech… everyone laughed. Except me.”

  Fencer stood motionless.

  “Why in that moment, full of insecurity and fear of people… I saw that I wasn’t completely indifferent or strange.” The sentence came out longer than any other he had said since returning. “That I wasn’t the only one… it was like looking into a…”

  “A mirror,” Fencer completed, almost without meaning to.

  Empty raised his masked face. For a second, the silence between them was denser than the chains.

  Then the door burst open with force.

  Alfredo entered, eyes narrowed.

  “What’s happening? It’s taking too long, Fencer.”

  Fencer recomposed himself instantly.

  “It’s nothing, sir. I was trying to talk to him. Luna asked me to try when I came here.”

  Alfredo observed the two for a long moment. Then looked at the cameras in the corner—silent, without sound.

  “I see…” he said, voice too neutral. “And then, did he answer you?”

  Fencer shrugged.

  “You weren’t listening? Well… no. He didn’t answer.”

  Alfredo nodded slowly.

  “Did you get everything you needed?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  Fencer left. Alfredo stood still for another second, looking at Empty. His eyes carried a distrust that was not merely professional.

  He closed the door with a heavy click.

  The silence returned to the cell—but now it felt different. Fuller. More dangerous.

  In Luna Lighting’s room, the faint light of magical lamps flickered as if afraid to illuminate the shadows hanging between the three too brightly. Raphadun paced back and forth, fists clenched, breathing rapidly.

  “We can’t do this to him, Luna!” he shouted, voice echoing against the white stone walls. “Torture disguised as ‘study’? That’s their cowardice, not his!”

  Luna sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, face buried in her hands. She didn’t answer immediately. The weight of the vote still crushed her chest.

  Suddenly, three firm knocks on the door.

  “Majes—… I mean… Luna?” The soldier’s voice on the other side faltered, as if the old title still slipped out by habit.

  Luna raised her face, weary.

  “Come in.”

  The soldier opened the door just enough to speak.

  “Bruce is calling for you. In his office. Now.”

  Raphadun stopped pacing. His eyes met his sister’s—a pleading, almost desperate look.

  “Luna…” he murmured. “Convince him. Please.”

  She merely nodded, a small, heavy gesture, and stood. She passed through the Tower’s corridors like a shadow among shadows. Nobles paused to stare, whispered behind gloved hands, but no one dared speak to her. The air was thick with looks that said more than words: “the queen who gave up the throne for a monster.”

  When she entered Bruce’s office, the smell of old leather and polished metal enveloped her. Bruce stood with his back to the door, gazing out the panoramic window overlooking the sleeping city.

  “Granddaughter…” he said without turning.

  “Grandfather…” Luna replied, voice neutral.

  He turned slowly. His emerald eyes studied her as if searching for cracks.

  “You… I know very well the unhappiness you’re going through. Especially regarding… Empty.” He paused, as if the name hurt in his mouth. “But I want you to understand the situation. Truly.”

  Luna felt her stomach churn at the repetition of “understand.” It was the same word he used when she was a child, when he explained why the world was cruel and why the Lightning family had to be stronger than the rest.

  “I… understand, Grandfather,” she said, forcing the words out firmly.

  Bruce approached, standing behind her. He placed a heavy hand on her shoulder—not an affectionate gesture, but one of weight.

  “I’m glad you understand. I needed to hear that one more time.”

  He opened the door for her. Luna rose and passed through, without looking back.

  That night, lying in bed, Luna stared at the ceiling carved with crystal constellations. She tossed and turned, sheets tangled around her legs like chains. Sleep did not come. Only memories: the continuous beep, Empty’s cold hand, the silence that followed.

  Then a low, sharp voice cut through the darkness.

  “Luna…”

  She sat up suddenly, heart racing, but recognized the tone before seeing the silhouette by the window.

  “Raphadun… what are you doing here?”

  He stepped out of the shadows, eyes shining with urgency.

  “Luna! You need to do something! We need to talk to Empty. We need to see if it’s really him or not. For real.”

  “Raphadun…”

  “Listen to me!” He stepped forward, voice trembling with contained emotion. “That day… we cried when he left. We only had each other to remember the moments he saved us. We cried, we mourned, we moved on… and now you decide to forget him?”

  Luna looked away.

  “He used one of the Stones, Rapha. You know what that means? It’s not normal. It’s not acceptable…”

  “Who said that’s a sin?” he retorted, breathless. “People from years ago? He’s Empty. He always was! We at least… need certainty.”

  His eyes welled up. His voice cracked.

  “Bruce, the Council nobles… they’ll never understand what we suffered in the Infernal Zone. They denied help to our parents, and now they want to be the saviors?! Damn it!”

  “Rapha!” Luna leaped up and covered his mouth with her hand. “They could hear you. You know that, right?”

  She waited for the silence to settle. Then, slowly, she removed her hand.

  “I understand very well…” she murmured. “But I went to see him. You didn’t. It’s… strange. Different. It’s not lip service. Something changed, Raphadun. I want you to raise your guard.”

  He looked at her, eyes still wet.

  “We… we’re going,” she said finally. “To reach your final conclusions.”

  A small, almost childlike smile appeared on Raphadun’s face.

  In the early morning hours, Luna and Raphadun moved through the corridors like ghosts. They reached the House of Light mansion, south of the Tower. Alfredo Lighting was in Theodora’s room, helping his debilitated mother lie down. When he saw the two sneaking in, he raised an eyebrow.

  “What are you doing here?!” he whispered, surprised.

  Luna and Raphadun exchanged a glance and gave nervous giggles, like teenagers caught red-handed.

  “Is this serious?” Alfredo crossed his arms, confused.

  “Uncle!” Raphadun said, still laughing softly. “We came to ask permission to see Empty.”

  Alfredo blinked.

  “This is… why? He used one of the Stones and returned sometime later. Why do you want to see him?!”

  Luna stepped forward. Her green eyes met his with absolute certainty.

  “Uncle… I need you to trust me. Please.”

  Alfredo observed her for a long moment. Then sighed.

  “Understood. Let’s go then. The Shadow soldiers are probably handling security now, but if I order them out, I can let you in. But I need to be there. For safety.”

  “Understood!” Raphadun replied, relieved.

  Luna smiled, a small, grateful smile.

  They headed for the new maximum-security prison, southeast of the Tower. Alfredo dismissed the Shadow soldiers with a dry order: “Shift change. Return to your posts.” One of them glanced back with strangeness but obeyed.

  Alfredo stood guard at the upper entrance.

  Luna and Raphadun descended the spiral stairs. The air grew colder and damper with each step. They entered the cell.

  Empty was there, seated in the reinforced chair. Head bowed. Sleeping? Impossible to tell.

  Raphadun sat on the floor before him, without fear.

  “Hey, Empty.”

  Slowly, the mask rose. The hidden eyes in shadow met Raphadun’s. Then Luna, who leaned against the opposite wall, watching everything intently.

  The sun began to rise outside. Pale light filtered through the high bars.

  Meanwhile, in the central Science laboratory, Flávio entered, yawning, rubbing his eyes.

  “Good morning, Fencer! And…” He pointed at the young man beside him.

  “Albadon,” Fencer said without taking his eyes off the metal blades he was manipulating. “Newbie. I’m teaching him.”

  “Albadon! Pleasure!” Flávio extended his hand.

  “The pleasure’s mine!” the boy replied, excited.

  Fencer shot him a severe look.

  “Not there, Albadon. What did I say? Follow my orders here.”

  Flávio grabbed his order—a small measuring device—smiled, and left.

  In the corridor, a Light soldier intercepted him.

  “Flávio. Come with me.”

  He didn’t think twice. Instinctive trust. He followed the soldier to the prison. The man left him at the cell entrance and simply walked away, without explanation.

  “Hey, what do I do now?” Flávio asked, confused.

  No one answered.

  Through the small barred window, he saw Raphadun. And Luna. And…

  He sneaked in.

  Raphadun looked up.

  “I brought him,” he said quietly.

  Fear gripped Flávio when he saw the masked silhouette. That was the body he himself had helped bury. But then Empty raised his face.

  “I wanted to see you, great friend,” the hoarse, broken voice said, thick like gravel scraping metal.

  It wasn’t fear Flávio felt. It was hope. An absurd, painful, living hope.

  Luna, leaning against the wall, continued watching. Her green eyes did not blink.